


got starlight, got sweet dreams

by APgeeksout



Category: NXT, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 16:22:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5463179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APgeeksout/pseuds/APgeeksout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Vaudevillains, after the 11.11.2015 episode of NXT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	got starlight, got sweet dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kokiyas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokiyas/gifts).



It takes a long while to make their way back to the loft. 

First, they're detained in the ring, Dash and Dawson besmirching the Titles and posing atop the turnbuckles while black-clad trainers prod and knead at Aiden's knee. He covers his face and grits out monosyllabic answers and flinches involuntarily on the canvas. All that Simon can do is rest a hand against the clammy skin at the small of his back. 

When it's finally pronounced that he should ice, rest, and return for an exam in the morning, Simon helps him roll from the ring, clearing the way for Samoa Joe to pontificate to the universe about his treachery. The crowd offers a burst of cheers and applause as they move gingerly back up the ramp, Simon taking on more of Aiden's weight than either of them like (though probably still less than Aiden needs). They raise their hands in gratitude; Simon is rather numb as they pass behind the curtain, but the memory will warm him later.

The locker room also takes some navigating, full of eyes: curious and sympathetic and mocking alike. A subdued Enzo Amore offers a complicated shake and a string of colorful language about “the new Chumps” that Simon is afraid he only absorbs the bare gist of. Gable and Jordan snicker together at their locker, perhaps at Simon and Aiden's misfortune, but just as likely at their own private joke; Simon tries not to be bitter about that as he fills another bag with ice. He knows, after all, how intoxicating it can be to have a partner, a secret language, a whole world that moves along, full and complete, with minimal outside input.

It's not until after they're showered and ensconced in their street clothes – Aiden's scarf still looks jaunty, even though his damp hair is lank beneath his cap, and he is still far too quiet – that it occurs to Simon that they'll need to secure other means of transport. Aiden is in no fit shape to ride his boneshaker. They will be returning home without either bicycles or belts this night. 

Before Simon can place a call for a livery, Bayley bustles in, pulling them each into a gentle but insistent hug. She explains that – once the trainers are satisfied that his injuries are no more severe than he makes them out to be – she'll be driving Finn home in his automobile, and they will drop Aiden and Simon at their abode along the way. Her tone brooks no argument; the Women's Champion may be warm and open-hearted, but she is also a force of determination not to be trifled with. Truly, though, Simon is both too tired and too relieved to mount any argument. 

Aiden is likewise quiet, and his reticence weighs heavily on Simon. Aiden is the one who spins the threads of their daily exploits into an epic story, the one who can make the strains and bruises and inevitable losses into the sweet notes of a rousing song. Without Aiden's buoyancy, Simon's head seems to pound more loudly, the muscles in his back to twinge more stridently. 

Finn's vehicle is compact and low-slung, and they all four are moving slowly as they lower themselves into its seats. Finn and Bayley pause to secure their Titles inside the rear hatch before they settle into the front, and Aiden's eyes catch and hurriedly skitter away from Simon's, as he bends to arrange their own haversacks, much lighter than they were only this afternoon. 

Finn is nearly as quiet as Aiden, the bare replies he makes to Bayley's attempts at conversation emerging low and rough from his abused throat. Even Bayley, ebullient by nature, and the only victor among them tonight, is subdued. She lapses into quiet with the rest of them, giving Simon a soft smile in the rearview mirror as they round the block and halt outside the brick-fronted building where they've made their home. 

They refuse the help Bayley and Finn offer; being wounded only makes Aiden prouder, and though Simon is grateful, for transportation and commiseration alike, he would rather not entertain guests for what remains of the evening. 

They don't speak as they climb the stairs to their loft – Aiden taking each step gingerly, Simon regretting their choice to eschew a building with the modern convenience of an elevator – or while he puts their gear in its place or while the copper tub fills with warm water. It's only when Aiden is dipping below the surface of the water, the light of the hurricane lanterns they prefer catching golden on his skin, that he breaks the silence. 

“I'm afraid that wasn't very manly.”

“Nonsense,” Simon says, words bursting out louder than he'd anticipated. “Balderdash.” His damp fingers rake through Aiden's hair, disturbing his precise part. “You are a specimen.” 

Aiden's smile is still tight with pain and regret, but his eyes are genuine when he captures Simon's fingers and presses them to his lips. “Like recognizes like.”


End file.
